Clumsy
by LovesAngst
Summary: Arthur--the strapping, independent, golden prince--gains a bit of insight about how much Merlin, flaws included, means to him. As usual when I write , Arthur learns the hard way.
1. Chapter 1

Clumsy

As Arthur packed his satchel for a relaxing afternoon of hunting, Merlin bustled in the background, tidying up the breakfast tray.

"I'm sorry I can't go with you Arthur. With this measles outbreak, Gaius is run off his feet. He really needs me this afternoon."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Arthur responded "Gods, you'd think I couldn't do a thing without you Merlin."

"We're in agreement then sire!" Merlin teased, his goofy grin appearing and disappearing behind the shirt he was shaking like a terrier with a rat. Merlin ducked as Arthur chucked a pair of dirty grey socks at him, one landing directly on top his man servant's messy hair, the other coming to rest askew on an ample ear.

Arthur grumbled with barely-veiled humour. "Oh yes, I'm sure we are in complete agreement…we can agree that without you stumbling loudly behind me I may even catch something. It's been so long I'd hardly know what to _do_ with a pheasant."

"I can think of a few ideas. Prat…" Merlin mumbled, still smiling.

Arthur retorted with a clap on the shoulder as he passed his friend on the way out, pack slung over his back. "Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. We've got to think of a way to help you build up your solely underdeveloped respect for me. Your prince and master. Perhaps you can hold my jousting target when I get back. Won't that be character building?"

The pout was clear in Merlin's voice "Character building. Excellent."

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As Merlin diligently helped Gaius, he was far to busy to have another thought about Arthur as morning passed into afternoon. He was shocked then to see two knights helping a groaning, limping, Arthur into the physician's chambers. With a knight at each elbow Arthur weaved over to the first chair available clutching his left shoulder.

"Arthur! I…" a lecture about the prince's safety was just about to roll off Merlin's tongue when he was abruptly cut off

"Don't even Merlin…"

"Fine." Merlin huffed. He'd save the lecture and deliver it to Arthur once he was banished to bed rest by Gaius, which Merlin was fairly sure would be straight away from the looks of the pale shaky prince. Then he'd be a captive audience.

"And here you claimed that you didn't need me for your little trip to the forest…"

"Stuff it" Arthur bit back. He really wasn't feeling well.

The banter was cut short by Gaius' return. "Good grief! Sire! What happened?"

Looking sheepish, Arthur admit "I was tossed from my horse. I think maybe I'd best just go back to my chambers and lie down a bit…"

"Nonsense" the old doctor huffed, already poking and prodding as he went. Although no one noticed, Merlin winced whenever Arthur did, his eyes following each of Gaius' movements carefully.

After the rather painful go-over Arthur really did want to lie down.

"Nothing too serious Arthur, it looks like a badly sprained ankle, separated shoulder, and some bruised ribs."

"See Merlin" Arthur put on his best tough-soldier face "Nothing."

"Not my exact words sire…" Gaius corrected. "I am going to have to manipulate that shoulder before we put it in a sling. I'm afraid it's going to hurt."

"Just do it." Arthur spoke from between gritted teeth.

"Why don't you let me fix you something for pain first?"

"Maybe you should Arthur…" Merlin added, knowing the prince was too stubborn by half.

"Oh please, this isn't Merlin we're talking about. _I'll_ be fine, let's just do it!"

Merlin grumbled under his breath and rolled his eyes "Of course…bloody fool…" Gaius looked up sharply, his eyes said "Really Merlin, control yourself" but if Arthur had heard his servant's quip, he gave no sign.

"Alright then sire" Gaius motioned for Merlin to steady Arthur from behind. "Here we go..." With no further ado, Gaius' deceivingly strong hands shoved Arthur's shoulder one way and his collar bone the other way. As Gaius expected, Arthur promptly passed out, held in place by Merlin and the doctor.

"Stubborn mule!" At least Merlin didn't have to watch his voice now.

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It was early evening judging by the light in the room as Arthur slowly awoke. Looking up at the silks above his bed, his mind cleared and the prince remembered his adventurous day. That certainly explained why his shoulder and ribs were bound, his left arm was in a sling, and a cold slimy poultice clung to his lower leg. At least he hoped that was a poultice.

In the half light Arthur spotted a familiar figure sprawled in the chair. Merlin's stocking feet were up on the bed and his chair was precariously balanced on the back two legs. He was clearly sleeping on the job with his head dropped back, hair sticking up every which way, and snoring comfortably.

Still shaking off the veil of sleep, Arthur blinked a couple more times and then smirked. "Merlin!" he snapped.

With a start that surprised Arthur (even thought he'd been expecting it) Merlin barked out in shock and promptly lost his balance, arms pin-wheeling all the way as he went over backwards with a loud crash. Arthur winced, tightening his shoulders, as he watched the back of Merlin's head miss the night table by a hair.

Both boys cringed identically, Arthur grabbing for his shoulder and Merlin's hand resting on is lower back. "Arthur." Merlin whined "What'd you do that for?"

"Gods Merlin!" Arthur groaned "Those gangly arms and legs are going to be the death of you. I'd thought perhaps you'd grow less clumsy with time, not more so!"

"Yes, well, good to see you too Prince What-are-you-worried-about-Merlin-I-can-hunt-on-my-own." Merlin winced again as he got up.

Without a thought, the two boys launched into a round of their own brand of banter. Anyone watching from outside might have guessed them to be brothers, snipping, teasing, and arguing away.

With considerable effort on both their parts, they managed to get Arthur into a fresh shirt and fed a slice of beef on a bun. As Arthur set-to a large goblet of wine, Merlin began tiding up. "I've got to run Arthur. Will you be alright for a bit?"

"Here we go again…I thought we'd established that I can certainly manage _Mer_lin"

"Yes. That turned out extra well last time didn't it? Ok. I've got to collect some plants for Gaius, preferably before it's pitch dark out." Merlin bustled out the door.

"Do be carefully you great sack of awkward bits!" Arthur called out snidely as Merlin left—each word louder than the one before.

Merlin stuck his head back into the room with a grin and a waggle of his eye brows "I'll try to do better that you did _sire._ Get some rest."

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Arthur spent the next day in bed. It was rather a treat sleeping in until the sun was well up, no training, no disciplining, no paperwork or entreaties from the public. The king dropped by to share lunch with his son and to ensure he stayed put. Gaius was his next visitor and also insisted that Arthur stay in bed for at least another day.

Arthur's assurances that he would indeed stay put were apparently unconvincing.

As he woke blearily the next day, Arthur realized that Gaius was a lot craftier than he looked. It seems that he had slipped Arthur a sleeping draught. He'd been asleep from Gaius' visit until his bladder awoke him near noon the next day.

Gaius arrived shortly thereafter and declared Arthur on the mend. For someone delivering good news, Gaius looked suspiciously ill-at-ease. He had rushed over Arthur's injuries and was just as rushed as he turned to go, he didn't even look the least bit sheepish about drugging the prince!

"Gaius…" Something had been niggling at Arthur's mind.

"Sire?" Gaius hadn't even turned around and spoke with is hand on the door handle.

"Where's Merlin? I didn't see him yesterday…I need a new shirt, some lunch, and this room is a mess" Arthur sounded more than a touch spoiled.

Gaius' shoulders slumped some and he turned to face Arthur. Actually looking the prince in the eyes for the first time since he came in. "I've been wondering the same sire. I sent him for some supplies and he hasn't been back."

Arthur's peevish expression changed almost imperceptibly—but Gaius was perceptive—a touch of concern rising in his features "Since yesterday?"

Gaius nodded his head and added "The day _before_ yesterday actually."

Right. Arthur'd lost track, that _had_ been two days ago.

Gaius' voice drew him back "I am starting to worry." Truth be told, Gaius was well beyond 'starting to worry'.

Gaius couldn't make out the words, but Arthur was grumbling something about his clumsy, idiot, servant actually being more work than not having a servant at all as he began moving as if to rise. Bolts of pain flashed across his face.

"Arthur! Stop right there." Gaius' voice softened "You can get up, carefully, to come over here and eat but you will not be out searching the forest for our Merlin. I was just leaving to go look for him myself."

Arthur carefully worked his way to the edge of the bed then heaved himself onto his feet. To his dismay, that small effort had Arthur woozy and his shoulder was more painful than he'd expected. 'Of course', he told himself 'I really haven't eaten for a couple days.'

After a few iffy steps, made more difficult by the fact that he couldn't balance himself with his arm tied to his side, Arthur realized that he really wouldn't be able to look for Merlin. He'd never get on his horse. He'd broken out in a light sweat and was nauseous by the time he sat heavily at the table

"Eat. You will feel better. Oh, and drink every drop of that water." Arthur eyed the pitcher suspiciously. "It's just water Arthur. This time." Gaius half smiled, although he was obviously distracted.

"Gaius, let me send the knights and some guards." Arthur took a bite of a meat tart and spoke around his food "To look for Merlin." Another bite, "If he's gotten lost, they will be able to cover far more ground than you."

A beat of time slipped by as the two men's thoughts ventured into the same territory…

Gaius broke the silence "But…but, if the boy's hurt sire…" his eyes were forlorn.

In contrast, Arthur's well-schooled features were all business "Then the men will come for you. Straight away."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Please, send Lancelot in and I'll get them on their way."

"Thank you sire."

Only once Gaius was gone and door closed softly did Arthur let his worry reach his eyes. The prince absent mindedly rubbed his shoulder muttering under his breath "Idiot…"

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	2. Chapter 2

Only once Gaius was gone and door closed softly did Arthur let his worry reach his eyes. The prince absent mindedly rubbed his shoulder muttering under his breath "Idiot…"

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By the middle of the afternoon the day had changed from bright to overcast. The sky was flat and grey, a cool wind whipped at the early fall air.

As much as he was loath to admit it, Arthur's mind kept wandering back to the search for his man servant. The more he tried to push the thoughts away and distract himself, the more persistent they became. There certainly wasn't much hope of distraction sitting in his chambers looking out the window. The prince admit to himself that he was secretly watching for riders with news. Watching for that mop of brown hair and a stupid grin he'd likely be able to see from the edge of the forest. Who was he keeping this particular secret from? Who knew! Himself maybe? Gods, his head spun and Arthur got up to pace, mindful of his sore ankle. Why oh why was Merlin so much _trouble_? There was just no other word for it.

The young prince was pleased to note though that he was feeling better, as Gaius predicted. He'd sent off the men, finished his meal, dressed (with considerable help from a frightened kitchen boy who'd come to get the dishes), and then lay back down for a fitful nap. He'd been at the window pretty much since then. Bloody Merlin.

By the time supper smells started to waft up from the royal kitchens, Arthur'd grown antsy, no word of his _idiot_ at all. He knew that his father and Gaius would have his hide if they caught him but he decided he was going down to the stables anyway. If he could just get up on his mount, riding itself shouldn't be too difficult. Right?

He'd just take a little jaunt.

'They' said you should get right back up on the horse after a fall. Not that he put much stock in such sayings, but that's what he would say if anyone asked. It was as if his whole being—heart, gut—whatever you want to call it, just could not settle. Arthur realized that he needed to try looking for Merlin himself. It turned out there's really no keeping these matters private from your _own_ nosy mind. He was doing no one any good cooped up in his room like a chained bear.

Arthur's mind continued on as his sore body carefully navigated the castle stairs and courtyard. Arthur snugged his puffed red jacket closer and continued on. He'd been missing for almost three days and another cold night was lurking. Arthur admit with some shame that if the tables were turned, Merlin would have set out looking for Arthur days ago. On foot if he had to.

Merlin seemed to have no self-preservation skills whatsoever and Arthur grimaced at the thought of his friend wandering cold and lost in the forest. 'Stupid servant' he thought, with a considerable dose of affection.

Arthur was able to set his worry at the back of his mind for a few minutes once he arrived at the stables. After tentatively walking around and around his horse, no clear route for mounting the beast had presented itself. He was pleased that someone had tacked the animal, but that really wasn't helpful enough. Arthur was going to need a boost—at the very least.

The horse's ears pricked up a second before Arthur's…within a moment a knight could be seen approaching the stable at a gallop.

Arthur turned toward the approaching messenger, surprised to find himself unbecomingly edgy. Sir Gaughin, a fairly new knight, yanked his steed to a halt at Arthur's feet.

"Gaughin."

With a slow deferential nod he replied "Sire. Good to see you up."

Arthur's curt nod betrayed the worry he thought he'd set aside "Report."

"I've been told by Sir Lancelot that your man has been located sire. If you'll come with me, I'll lead."

"Is he alright? Should we bring Gaius?"

Arthur realized that he was holding his breath. He purposefully let it out and relaxed his muscles. For the love of Camelot, why was he so tense? Merlin had been lost _dozens_ of times. This year.

Gaughin's reply was noncommittal, he shrugged "I wasn't told to bring Gaius sire, just you."

"Alright then…"

Gaughin wasn't quite sure what to do next when Arthur made no move to mount.

"Or I can go back on my own sire…?"

"No. It's not that." Arthur wondered if Gaughin was quite smart enough to be a knight of Camelot. He looked pointedly down at his sling.

"Ah! Your arm!"

'Lovely' though Arthur testily, 'a genius'.

Gaughin slid off his horse "Allow me to give you a hand sire. Are you sure you're alright to ride?"

"Yes, yes, let's go." Arthur's relief was palpable. He just hoped he didn't damage his blasted shoulder any further, but he needed to see Merlin for himself and get everyone back hopefully before nightfall.

Stupid, clumsy, man servant.

And he'd mocked _Arthur_ about being thrown? At least he'd been able to find his own way back to the castle without the forest being combed by half the guards and all the knights of Camelot.

Grunting, pulling, and shoving, the two men manoeuvred Arthur onto his well-behaved horse with pretty well as little poise as one could possibly mount.

By the time he was in the saddle, Arthur's ribs were throbbing mercilessly and his shoulder burned like fire. He could feel a bead of sweat tickling between his shoulder blades. Now, if he could just manage to keep from passing out and falling off it'd be a bloody miracle.

He'd been right in a way, riding _was_ easier than mounting. That said, the jostling gait of his horse was worse than Arthur had imagined and he gratefully slid to his feet at the make-shift camp the men had pitched at the rough scree-littered base of a shallow, narrow, valley.

Upon seeing the prince, Lancelot side-stepped carefully down the hill, feet slipping and sliding over the broken grey rock.

"Sire."

"Lancelot. You've found him." A statement, not a question.

Lancelot waited a beat, catching his breath from the trip down the slope "Yes."

Arthur briefly thought something seemed off about Lancelot. His voice? His posture? It was hard to be sure. That said, the men had never really been comfortable around each other since Gwen.

"Well?" Arthur prompted "Where has he been?" This didn't seem like a spot Merlin would become lost—but with Merlin one never knew.

Lancelot glanced up the slope as he spoke "It looks as though he'd been captured by slave traders sire."

Arthur blinked "Slave traders! In Camelot?!" Arthur looked over his shoulder at Gaughin "Take some men and find them. Now."

Gaughin's fist came up to his chest "Sire!" he turned and was off before Arthur could delegate this important task to someone with more experience.

Arthur turned back to Lancelot "And?" The prince was getting antsy, his shoulder was killing him and he just wanted to get back to his bed. His eyes roved the area, where in hades was Merlin?

Lancelot turned back to Arthur "Sire?"

Not bothering to hide his frustration any longer, Arthur barked out "What did Merlin _say_ Lancelot?!"

As Lancelot turned to head up the slope, Arthur was sure there was something worrisome in his knight's expression "Up here sire…"

Arthur was carefully following his knight over the rough surface "Lancelot!"

"Sire?" Lancelot looked back and stopped, waiting for Arthur to catch up. The knight then grabbed Arthur's elbow to help him balance. It would be bad form to allow the injured prince to topple down the hill "Careful sire."

Arthur was done with this little verbal game and stopped. When Lancelot looked at the prince questioningly, Arthur asked again, his voice commanding "What did _Merlin_ say happened?"

Ready for chapter 3?? Thanks for all the feedback so far, Merlin's fans are the best to write for A bit more please and thank you?!


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was done with this little verbal game and stopped. When Lancelot looked at the prince questioningly, Arthur asked again, his voice commanding "What did _Merlin_ say happened?"

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Sir Lancelot was technically the newest of Camelot's knights—although his relationship with Arthur went back several years now.

Merlin had quietly told Lancelot of all Arthur had done to help him secure his chance at the knighthood. The prince hadn't let the bad blood between them—about Gwen—alter his opinion of Lancelot's abilities and had really gone to the mat for him.

According to Merlin, Arthur could be unfailingly counted on to do whatever it took to right a wrong. Of course, to listen to Merlin, one would think the prince nearly flawless. Not that Merlin would have ever let _Arthur_ know that, not with those two always mocking and irritating each other. Through Merlin's kind and innocent eyes, Lancelot had come to see Arthur as a true and solid prince. A worthy man.

Lancelot shook himself out of his thoughts to find the irritated Arthur still looking at him. Judging by his eyes, Arthur was moving from irritation to suspicion.

Lancelot broke from that steely gaze, glancing away, before beginning to carefully move them up the slope again. After a second, he cleared his throat and continued "As I said sire, it looks like Merlin was taken by slave traders."

With one high step, the men finally crested the slope.

Arthur took in the location, he'd been here before, there was nothing much to speak of. About fifty yards from where they stood—on flatter, but still rocky ground—was a small group of men. An item or two of colourful clothing stood out in contrast to the darkening grey sky, grey rocky ground, and blurry smudges—browning trees—far off in the distance. The wind moaned.

Lancelot put gentle pressure on Arthur's good shoulder, pulling the prince to a stop. The knight tentatively stepped in front of Arthur, bringing the men face to face. He kept his gloved hand loosely clapped to Arthur's shoulder.

"Sire."

Lancelot would rather have been anywhere else at the moment. He wished in fact that he had never met Arthur or Merlin at all. No. That was a lie. Merlin and Arthur were worth knowing at any cost.

There was no help for it, Lancelot had to press on. His words were so gentle it took a moment for Arthur to sort them out. "It looks like Merlin'd been badly injured..."

Once the prince's foggy brain had caught up, his eyes flashed anger. "Injured?" he nearly bellowed before wrapping himself in control. Arthur spoke through gritted teeth "Gaughin told me not to bring Gaius!"

Lancelot went on as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "It looks like he'd been badly injured…" only now did Arthur notice how _sad_ Lancelot looked. The prince's stomach sank. "and…well…you know Merlin." Lancelot's voice got faster and higher "He wouldn't have been able to keep up. Couldn't have kept up. Not on this terrain. Those thugs would never have just let him go…"

Lancelot's mouth snapped shut. He couldn't.

A second passed. Two. Arthur opened his mouth as if to speak, his eyebrows drawing together, but nothing came out.

Lancelot watched this strong and decent man think. This was just so wrong.

Arthur closed his mouth then tried again "Is Merlin…?" Arthur felt the back of his scalp prickle. His throat was suddenly much too narrow. Too narrow for whatever had become lodged there. "Where...?"

Lancelot cleared his throat. There was no easy way…"It looks as though Merlin was discarded there. Bound." He pointed towards the group of men "Likely before nightfall yesterday."

"No." Arthur's voice caught as he surged forwards—towards the group of men—shoulder slipping out of Lancelot's grip.

The newest knight, Merlin's friend and Arthur's subject, placed is hand on Arthur's chest holding the prince for a moment longer.

The whole scene had changed before Arthur's very eyes; he could now see that the pack of men was loosely gathered around a small crumpled figure on the ground. No one was tending to the figure, they were just standing. "No!" His voice was strained and foreign. His eyes were full of naked fear. Arthur's gaze flitted back and forth between the tiny—too tiny—heap and Lancelot. Waiting for him to say something—anything—to make this alright.

Lancelot stared bravely back, holding Arthur's gaze with sympathy and pain.

Arthur begged "Merlin?"

Lancelot's hand remained on the prince's chest, gently holding Arthur back for one last moment. "Please Arthur. Perhaps he didn't suffer long…the night was cold…" The words were hollow.

"No…there must be some mistake…" Arthur felt as if he were a tiny little man standing in his own head, peering out his own eyes. Apart. His vision blurred and narrowed at the edges, his head was buzzing and sounds began to dull. Nausea churned in Arthur's gut, churned all the way up to the top of his throat. The whole world had burned down to one pinpoint.

Mindlessly, Arthur shook off Lancelot's warm hand and began to walk numbly forwards, tripping over the rocky ground, pains forgotten.

He was unable to take his eyes off the figure on the ground.

This was impossible.

The closer he got the more the figure in the gathering dusk looked like Merlin. A small, tattered, _empty_ version of Merlin.

This couldn't be.

Merlin might be lost—but Arthur would always find him and bring him home. Smiling and oblivious to the trouble he'd caused.

Merlin might be hurt—he'd been hurt before but Arthur would rush them both to Gaius and all would be well. All would be well…Arthur blinked rapidly…the backs of his eyes threatened…and everything would go back to how it should be! Arthur would serve and protect the whole of Camelot and Merlin would serve and shelter _him_.

Most of the others, standing quietly and morosely about, had yet to notice the bandaged, limping, tormented prince staggering towards them.

As Arthur's eyes burned the scene into his mind, one of the guards—one Arthur later would not remember—prodded at the pile. Merlin. He prodded at _Merlin_ with the toe of his dirty boot.

No one saw Arthur coming. They never saw his face contort—pain overflowing the banks of his mind. Out of nowhere the prince was on the sullen guard like a wild animal. The screaming tackle sent both men rolling across the stony ground. Arthur's face was a mass of rage—he was set to kill. Sling, shoulder, and ribs forgotten Arthur grabbed fistfuls of the guard's jerkin. He hauled the man close, yelling and cursing an inch from the terrified face. The prince looked like a man gone mad. He was.

As the horrified guard sat up, Arthur battered him down with one crushing blow to the face; smashing him to the ground.

As Arthur cocked his arm to strike again, Lancelot gently, but firmly restrained the prince. He needed to keep Arthur from hurting himself more and to keep him from killing the guard. Although the man really could have used a good killing, in Lancelot's opinion.

Arthur struggled and yelled wordlessly. Once he'd gotten Arthur turned around, facing away from the bloody guard, Lancelot tentatively released the struggling man.

On his knees now, eyes scrunched closed in pain, Arthur grabbed his shoulder in agony and moaned. He was gasping and heaving, tears had wet his flushed face.

All the men but Lancelot hastily retreated back towards their little camp, dragging the guard with them. He was either unconscious or dead. It didn't matter much either way.

As the pain began to ease off enough for Arthur to become conscious of anything else, he slowly opened his eyes.

Arthur's gaze fell squarely on a pair of legs and feet sprawled in the hard grey rocks in front of him. His world shrank to those legs, crushing pain, and the sound of his own loud rasping breath.

Merlin.

Long blinks and harsh swallows were his only weapons against the darkest creeping from the back of his mind to the front. Arthur began to tremble; with adrenaline and pain, fatigue and fear, guilt and sorrow. He knew those worn shoes, those faded black trousers. He slowly forced his eyes to take in the whole man in front of him.

All hope—that this was a terrible mistake—was washed away as Arthur's eyes fell on Merlin's face.

He was lying on his stomach, legs askew, facing Arthur.

Arthur's voice was so…defeated. So defeated and lifeless that Lancelot felt his own throat tightening. "Oh." said the man who would be king. "Oh no."

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	4. Chapter 4

This chapter is for MagicByMerlin whose kind and detailed reviews make my day.

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Arthur's voice was so…defeated. So defeated and lifeless that Lancelot felt his own throat tightening. "Oh." said the man who would be king. "Oh no."

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Merlin didn't look "peaceful." He didn't look like he was "sleeping". Nothing like the portrait stories paint of fallen heroes. Of our dear departed ones.

Arthur's closest friend lay as he fell. Stomach-down on the unforgiving, cold, cruel ground. His head was tilted to the left, facing his master. As the prince's eyes welled, Lancelot could see Merlin's tragic visage reflected in their surface.

From what Arthur could see, Merlin's mouth hung open, lips parched and split. Ugly purple bruising encircled his friend's pale neck. The remains of a thin rope…a knotted leash…trailed off. His eye had been blackened and Merlin's cheek bore ghostly marks that had no doubt flamed red in life. Outside these injuries—that made Arthur's stomach clench—his face was white as marble. Who could have done such a thing? To strike a defenceless man, a meek, unarmed man. Dear sweet Merlin? How? The eye Arthur could see was open. A cloudy crack. Staring forever across the rocky hilltop.

Arthur's eyes overspilled. Merlin had been waiting, looking out across the rock.

Waiting for Arthur.

Waiting with his eyes open. Merlin had not drifted peacefully off to sleep. Had he imagined Arthur coming over the hill only to blink and realize he was alone? Had he watched as death came for him?

Arthur roughly swiped the back of his good hand across his face. Angry at his tears.

Arthur's eyes roved away from Merlin's accusing stare. He couldn't bear it. With a sound that made Lancelot flinch—an anguished choking—Arthur made the discovery which he found most horrible of all.

Merlin's hands were bound.

Oh spirit. Arthur choked again, swallowing back the sickness and horror that had flooded his throat. Merlin's bloodless hands were bound tightly at the wrist, behind his back. His narrow shoulders wrenched cruelly together. A thin piece of leather circled the boy's cold wrists over and over.

Arthur tipped clumsily from his knees to sitting, hand held firmly to his horrified mouth. After closing his eyes for a moment against the sight, Arthur reached out, gently touching the bindings. His head fell forward, chin to his chest. A chest that was heaving with restrained sobs.

Thoughts flew through the prince's burning mind.

Merlin was too clumsy to be bound.

He never would have been able to keep up.

Not on these rocks.

Too clumsy. He needed his hands.

Arthur pictured Merlin, pictured the last moments of the man Arthur thought of as his other half. The images were as sharp and clear as life itself—Merlin scared and rushed, eyes wide, stumbling and falling again and again, falling to his knees, being struck with a gauntleted hand when he fell, hauled to his feet roughly by his neck, choking, retching.

Arthur thought he was going to be sick.

Merlin.

His dear, dear Merlin.

His hands. He was too clumsy—sweet and warm and goofy and clumsy.

Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from Merlin's hands. 'No!' his mind screamed…'gods no!'

Lancelot knelt softly beside his prince. He touched a broad shoulder and was surprised to feel Arthur shaking beneath the bulk of his jacket.

The devoted knight, and Merlin's friend, gently severed the bindings with his dagger.

Merlin's hands parted a span, but remained behind his back, arms already stiffening.

Dead four or five hours at the most then.

The leather stuck to Merlin's raw wrists, imbedded in his long-cold skin.

Arthur swallowing roughly again and again, Adam's apple bobbling, vomit rising in his throat.

Arthur's mind whispered cruelly.

As he'd lain on his bed, warm by the fire Merlin had…Merlin had died. Right here. Those long legs had tangled one last time, Arthur could see it. Merlin crying out weakly and falling hard on the rocks.

He wouldn't have been able to get up this time.

They would have hauled on that choking leash. Would have kicked him. Once it was clear Merlin was at an end, blood running from his mouth, body twitching over the rock, they left Merlin to die alone. Cold and shaking on the rocks.

With his usually warm, open, hands forever bound.

Arthur was sobbing now, as quietly as one could, hand hard over his mouth, but sobbing none-the-less.

Ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulder Arthur heaved himself back onto his knees, reaching down to gently roll Merlin onto his back. Lancelot helped, carefully guiding Merlin's arms to his sides.

Lancelot was talking—likely trying to be kind—but the sounds failed to form words in Arthur's mind. Mumbled noise.

Just as Arthur'd pictured, Merlin's body told his tale.

The side of Merlin's face that had been resting in the rocks was eternally marked by abrasions and lumps. And blood. The knees were ripped out of his thin pants, the shins stiff with blood. Arthur could see blackened and broken skin between the torn fabric. Merlin's shoulders and sides were battered. At the end, his bladder had let go.

Arthur barked out a harsh sob and put his hand to his eyes.

He had fallen.

Merlin had fallen over and over.

On his knees, on his sides.

On his poor dear _face_.

Lancelot started at the horrible keen that came out of the prince before he could bite it off. From the bereaved came full-on yells, single syllable bursts of denial and pain.

Arthur wrested a shred of control and slammed his mouth shut. The prince sagged forward, gently grasping Merlin's face in both hands. So cold. So unlike his warm friend. With his thumbs Arthur closed Merlin's eyes.

Arthur bent to whisper in his servant's deaf ear, the cold, torn, skin of Merlin's cheek against his own.

"I'm sorry Merlin." Arthur's voice broke but he continued "I love you my friend."

He paused—spent, wearied. Arthur found he didn't have the energy to get back up; he just could not do it. The prince rested his forehead against his servant's. Two more sounds, half scream, half sob were ripped from his throat.

He'd _lost_ him.

He'd lost Merlin.

With every bit of energy he possessed, Arthur drew back. Toppling again off his shaking knees.

"Merlin. Oh Merlin." Arthur's good hand went to his eyes, the other hung limp at his side. There was such deep fondness in those three words that tears pricked the back of Lancelot's own eyes.

Arthur looked up with tears in his eyes "If they just hadn't bound his hands…they shouldn't have! Merlin could have been a good slave…he could have lived…he…"

Lancelot's voice wavered "Merlin was a great man m'lord. He thought the world of you."

Arthur couldn't speak, nodding his agreement. He felt the same. With a meaningful squeeze on the prince's forearm, Lancelot rose. He'd give the men time alone.

.

.

.

Lancelot straightened his shoulders and stepped carefully down the slope. The men were standing silent, the sounds of Arthur's grief had echoed in the small valley. Of course, they'd pretend not to have heard.

Lancelot sent most of the guard home and asked Sir Kay to gently break the news to Gaius before anyone else was informed, even the king.

Several strong and trusted knights—Lamorak and Degore—had made a rough travois. With Lancelot they climbed the slope in silence.

The knights found Arthur sitting right next to his cherished manservant. Unable to look any longer but unable to move away. Arthur's left hand covered Merlin's left wrist—as though he might warm it.

With great care the three men took up poor broken Merlin—took him from his unblinking prince and lay him on the travois. They'd brought a fine cloak, given by one of the others, and covered the servant warmly and securely.

The two men began the careful trip down the hillside with their burden.

After watching them go, Lancelot fell silently to his knees beside Arthur. As gently as he could, he worked the prince's arm back into his sling and secured it tightly. Lancelot imagined his ministrations were painful. If they were, Arthur showed no indication, sitting silently and staring glassily ahead.

.

.

.

Arthur wasn't sure how they made it back down the slope, Lancelot supporting more than half Arthur's weight, good arm slung over the knight's shoulder.

As they reached the bottom, Arthur was relieved to see the others had gone and mentally thanked the stars for Lancelot's help that day.

The ride to the castle was silent. Lancelot led. Lamorak carefully followed, the travois strapped securely behind his steed. Arthur was next. His eyes never left the small shape he knew to be Merlin. Sir Degore followed closely at the rear. Ready should the prince fall.

Once within the walls of Camelot, the party proceeded past faceless onlookers to Gaius' door. The old physician stood, a sad silhouette in the open door frame. His face was shadowed as light poured forth from behind him.

When had it turned night? Arthur wondered.

Merlin was brought into the home he and Gaius' had shared and lain on the bed.

Arthur tried to explain. To explain to Gaius how he had lost Merlin. How this could have happened. Arthur couldn't stop talking, mentally and verbally fumbling. He rambled. Gaius had nothing to say. What was there to say?

The physician hadn't noticed Arthur's pallor or given a thought to the prince's injuries. Really, right now, nothing at all seemed to matter to the old man. Gaius interrupted the frayed thoughts of the prince, holding up a trembling hand. "Please sire" his voice was quite and tired "Please, just go. To your chambers. Try to rest for a bit, I will come to you in the morning." Then Gaius turned away, leaving Arthur standing alone.

.

.

.

Somehow, Arthur found himself back in his room.

He was absolutely spent. And in shock. And in pain—the mental torment of the day outweighing his physical pain many-fold.

Arthur quietly lay down on his bed. The bed where he had napped in comfort while Merlin had suffered and died. Alone. He was swept away on a current of burning tears.

.

.

.

Arthur woke in near-darkness; the fire was burned down to glowing embers. Images of Merlin assaulted the prince and pain crashed into his chest. It felt as if he'd been hit full-on with a lance, he couldn't breathe.

Arthur raised a shaking hand to cover his eyes. Tears tracked down into his hair, into his ears. The prince tried to stifle a sob.

A voice pierced the darkness "Arthur? You awake?"

Arthur froze.

The voice came again, sing-song and teasing "_Ar_thur…I know you're awake. I can hear you snuffling like a wild boar…"

Arthur's hand fell and his eyes snapped open; his voice was filled to the brim with confusion "Merlin?"

A spark was struck and Merlin's face came into view by the light of a stubby candle.

"Of course Arthur. Who else?" Merlin's rolled his eyes expressively "Really!"

For his part, Arthur just stared. Eyes wide and mouth open.

Merlin went on "You've been out for the whole day! You'd better have a bite to eat before you go back to sleep."

Merlin put the candle on the night table, almost knocking it over, and tried—stiffly—to get up. Surprising to no one, his feet became tangled in a sheet that had inexplicably found its way to the floor. As Merlin flailed and tried to balance without upsetting the candle, Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist roughly.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was a croak.

Something in Arthur's voice made Merlin stop. He sounded so serious. "Arthur?"

Arthur found he couldn't utter a peep around the lump in his throat. His eyes were hollow and haunted.

"Arthur? Did you have a bad dream?"

Arthur nodded once. With choppy movements, the prince sat up, still gripping Merlin's wrist...his wonderfully warm, alive, and unbound wrist. Arthur yanked his friend towards himself, letting go of Merlin's wrist just long enough for Arthur to get his arm around Merlin's thin back. He pulled his well-loved servant into a shaky hug. Even Arthur's injured arm came up weakly.

"Oh." Arthur swallowed roughly again and again, holding a flood of emotions at bay. "Merlin."

"Shhh…Arthur…" Merlin returned his master's embrace with concern. He slowly pulled back, carefully settling Arthur onto his pillow and snugging the blankets around the trembling man. "You're alright now. This is my fault; I should have woke you to eat earlier." With that, Merlin moved to get the food. He pulled a face as his knee smashed into the corner of the night table.

Again, the crown prince of Camelot found himself unable to speak. If he opened his mouth, he just knew he'd come apart at the seams.

Instead he just nodded.

Merlin turned away, bumping around in the near-darkness trying to put together a bite for his Arthur.

Arthur watched raptly—the beginnings of a smile playing at his features. Arthur quickly swiped away one traitorous tear—stemming from the most overpowering sense of relief he'd ever experienced.

There was Merlin…bumbling around, clumsy as ever.

Thank the gods.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading my Christmas gift to you! Feedback would make a lovely return-gift!

Author's note…just in case you're interested

My fictions are always written around one image (funny, I know, to write 5,000 or 10,000 words to have enough front-story and denouement to bracket one image.) For 'Clumsy' my inspiration was an image of Arthur finding our sweet Merlin—still and gone—nothing to tell his story but the cruel bindings on his wrists.


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